Chuck Versus The Neverending Story
by WeAreAllStoriesInTheEnd
Summary: An all nighter of gaming turns into an eyeopening experience for one Bartowski, and an epiphany for the other. Chuck/Skyrim crossover. Charah.


**An**: Hey Chucksters! Yes, this is not** Redeeming Intentions**. I apologize for the long extended wait, but again my excuse shall be college semester finals. I will be done with them on Wednesday and then its one month of winter vacation! As a preemptive note to assuage all those who are still bitter by my last one-shot, **Sarah Vs the Walk In**: there are no tricks here! Actually I lied. There is one, but that's called the twist. And its a very predictable one anyway.

I blame the inspiration of this story on several factors: 1. I am high right now. 2. **Aerox **for being my awesome confidant and videogame expert, my boyfriend and brother for also being obsessed with this game. 3. Skyrim. 4. Memes. 5. The opening skit to the VGA's where Zachary Levi was inserted into various videogames but one of them _wasn't_ Skyrim, which seemed to be a great opportunity but passed on.

I do not own _Chuck_ or _Skyrim: Elder Scrolls V_. I'm sorry to those who won't understand some of the references or the world of Elder Scrolls. But you guys should be playing Skyrim right now. I'd also suggest you play the Skyrim Theme while you read this. You don't have to, but damn is that an epic soundtrack!

Enjoy

* * *

><p><em><strong>Whiterun Hold, Skyrim <strong>_

_**Fredas, 16th of Evening Star**_

_**Fourth Era 201**_

**~1~**

Everyone had heard of the legend about Dragonborn. The stories said that he or she was to be a mortal with the soul and blood of a dragon—a fabled creature that had been thought to be extinct. It had been centuries since either dragon or its half-human counterpart had been spotted in Skyrim, or anywhere else in the surrounding territories of Tamriel. Most didn't believe there was a bit of truth to the myths until that fateful day where the winged beast flew across the endless expanses of the sky, its giant silhouette eclipsing the sun before it dove to the earth below.

Its shriek echoed throughout the tundra and petrified the hearts of all its inhabitants. There was an explosion of fire that was unleashed from the beast's mouth, setting the city ablaze. The villagers screamed; fleeing the wrath of the daemon. Families were separated during the evacuations. Guards were firing an onslaught of arrows towards the heavens, but most of their attempts ended in vain. Every attack missed or only forced the beast into further agitation. More flames engulfed the neighboring buildings. The market were left in ruins, the local tavern in shambles. Suddenly an armor-clad soldier was taken into the jaws of the dragon. Menacing fangs pierced the steel and he was torn into two gruesome halves. And outbreak of mass hysteria was the only way to accurately describe the scene.

Sa'Rah watched the destruction unfold from the outskirts of the city. She sat on top of a grassy knoll with her knees pulled up to her chest. Overall it had started out as a chilly day in the remote lands of the Cloud District. But with the unexpected appearance of the fire-breather, the atmosphere had shifted considerably. The air was now hot and suffocating. The gusts of wind felt as though the dragon had blown a stream of scorching heat straight into her face. Her weathered lips pressed together, quivering while her eyes stung from the heavy smoke. They began to moisten once a terrible roar ripped into the early dawn, sending shivers down her spine. Her expression distraught, she reached a hand blindly for the bow that rested beside her. With her fingers wrapped around the slender weapon, the female Nord contemplated an idea that was quite rash. She usually tried to refrain from indulging in heroic acts. It wasn't in her nature to save, as it was more or less just to kill. But her conscience was relentless. So just as she was about to commit, a calm voice rendered her motionless.

"You'll die."

She peered over her shoulder. There, a young man stood several paces behind where she was sitting. His tousled hair danced carelessly in the ember-ridden breeze. He leaned against the Chestnut mare that she had 'borrowed' from the last town, petting its mane while staring afar; brown eyes unblinking when another cataclysm rocked the earth. The moment passed and he remained undaunted by the senseless carnage that followed. Sa'Rah regarded him curiously. It was as if he'd seen this all once before...

"What am I supposed to do then?" She heard herself say, tone edging close to frustration. He was acting a little too cheerful for her liking. Especially since he had only just predicted her death, there was no sane reason to be so calm "Do I just sit here and do nothing while that _thing _murders every last innocent man, woman and child?"

"Do you want to end up just like them?" He asked incredulously. "Because if you go down there unprepared, that's exactly what will happen."

"Unprepared?" She snapped back and pushed to her feet. Bow now grasped tightly in her hand; she slung the deerskin quiver over her shoulder. "You know what? I think for whatever reason, you are just trying to delay me from going down there. So unless you have a better idea of how to handle this, I am going whether you like it or not. And if you don't follow me, that's fine. You're just a coward like I suspected."

Her insult caused his mask to briefly slip. Beneath his composed facade, she saw him flinch. It was quick, then quickly replaced by a steely look that caused Sa'Rah to think twice before offending him again. He said coolly. "I am not a coward."

"Then why are you so insistent to not let me help those people?" demanded Sa'Rah. By the holy deity Sithis, she was going to figure this kid out.

"I..." he stammered.

"Well?"

His cheeks turned scarlet and averted his muddy gaze elsewhere. "I don't want to see you hurt or worse..."

_He was looking out for my safety? _She thought in disbelief. _Him? He has no place to say such things. I have been the one constantly having to project him death time after time!_

"Well thanks for the vote of confidence," said Sa'Rah with the roll of her eyes. "But I can handle myself, like I always have. Don't forget that I was the one who had saved your life."

"From starvation and hypothermia," he corrected. "Not a dragon."

One of her biggest annoyances was to be proven wrong. And usually those who ever attempted to correct her were always dealt with in the appropriate manner. Half of her desired to dispose of the young fool standing so confidently before her, yet she couldn't muster the willpower. __Its his damn eyes, __Sa'Rah cursed. __I cannot bear to think about killing him if he were to look at me like that.__

"You are infuriating," she told him.

"So I am told," he said dryly. "Repeatedly." With that he flawlessly rebounded from his bout of embarrassment; lips curving upward in a timid fashion. He had the most perfect smile. "I am just looking out for your well-being, Sa'Rah. I would never let you go face off a dragon by yourself."

She frowned. "So what are you saying exactly?"

"What I am saying is," he trailed off while surveying the skyline. Sa'Rah followed his gaze to find a dark foreboding haze that hovered around the burning village. The dragon circled from above like a vulture scavenging for remains. Despite the ominous view, he continued brightly. "If you want to slay the beast, then we'll need a plan of action."

_Did he really just say 'we?' _

Sa'Rah pried her eyes off the destruction and whirled around to face the youth again. He was adjusting his blue tunic, eyes sparkling brilliantly. She was discouraged somewhat by his change in attitude; from flippant to determined. His enthusiasm was startling. She wouldn't be entirely surprised if he was possessed by some demon or crazed spirit. That's how odd of a fellow he was. Nevertheless, she asked tentatively. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'll explain everything as thoroughly as possible, but first lend me your quiver please."

"What for?"

"Normal arrows cannot penetrate a dragon's scales," he informed her. "Well, that's not entirely correct. They _can _but it will hardly do so much as a scratch. But I know how to tweak yours to where they'll pose somewhat of a threat. They won't be able to kill it, but severely impair it. That is all I'm really hoping for anyway."

She nodded. He was actually making sense. "And may I ask as to how you know so much about fighting dragons?"

"If I had an answer, then you'd be the first to know," he responded truthfully. Reaching into the satchel strapped across his torso, he retrieved a few items that were wrapped in satin cloth. "For now, I'm just as clueless as you are. So your arrows please?"

Sa'Rah obliged and handed over the quiver. He took it gratefully and began to count the arrows inside its container. She estimated there was around fifty total and hoped it'd be enough. When she saw a pleased grin overcome the his boyish features, her trepidations were banished. For several minutes, she watched him modify the arrowheads. Her knowledge in alchemy was limited, but she was captivated despite how little she knew. He worked fast; displaying such advanced skills that had her mesmerized, lost in awe.

It was not easy to impress her. So to leave her amazed was quite the feat. His talents did not go unnoticed by Sa'Rah, as she now wondered about who and what he was, more than ever before.

_ He must be a mage, _She mused.

It was uncommon to find someone knowledgeable in the arcane arts these days. Especially in Skyrim where cities like Winterhold banned the enchanters. Most of her travels consisted in being ambushed by necromancers or bandits, never the rogue magicka user. Although her line of work did allow for several run-ins with mages, all of which ended like all of her client's targets. But she rather not dwell on such grim topics. Sa'Rah was more interested in this boy, who was likely to be a lot older than she originally predicted.

Sa'Rah remembered the day when she first met him. Met was an odd way to describe it. She had literally stumbled over his body. He was unconscious and nearly frostbitten when she found him being mauled by a pack of wolves. Rescuing him was easy, while nursing him back to health was the real challenge. Once he awakened from his sleep, she learned that he didn't have a name or any recollection of his past. She assumed he suffered from amnesia; perhaps caused by a traumatic event or a spell that backfired. Whatever the case, it had been almost a week since then and still Sa'Rah knew next to nothing about the mysterious wanderer. He was an enigma. A man without an identity. What she found was strangest of all was how he made no effort to recover his memories. Sa'Rah concluded that maybe he didn't want them back. There must've been a good reason behind his reluctance to reminisce. Not being the one to pry into someone's past, Sa'Rah left the curly-haired man shrouded in mystery.

However there were moments of clarity where it appeared to her that he _did_ have an inkling of his true identity. The dragon's sudden appearance had struck a notable chord. It made her wonder who he really was. How did he know about the existence of these terrifying monsters? Her mind was spinning theories on the handsome stranger—who was undoubtedly of Imperial descent. Typical. His probable heritage stirred unwanted loathing from within her. Her Nord ancestry caused the rift. It was her race that fostered an ageless feud with the Imperials. But the more she got acquainted with him; her inbred hatred began to subside. His kindly gaze and genuine smile harbored no animosity towards her. She felt inclined to reciprocate, first out of politeness, but now because she actually cared about his feelings. There were only seldom instances where she became irritated by his often immature, moral outlook.

"There," he announced happily. Sa'Rah blinked from her reverie and glanced down. The curly-haired mage presented her the quiver of arrows. Each tip of the arrowhead was now glossy and a dull shade of yellow. She inspected them in silent wonder. "I decided rather than relying on an enchantment, it would be smarter to recreate paralysis by using several ingredients and liquefying it. You see, enchantments are usually temporary and might not always get the job done. Alchemy is much more stable and dependable."

"So you coated each arrow with a potion, and when I shoot the dragon, it'll be grounded by the poisonous effects?" reiterated Sa'Rah in astonishment. She looked at the young man, impressed by how clever he was. "How did you come up with this idea exactly? I don't see a book of spells or whatever you mages carry around."

He tapped a forefinger against his temple. "I suppose that it's all preconceived knowledge from before I lost my memory. It came to me almost as if it was a flash."

"An epiphany, you mean?"

He shook his head, grin broadening."Nope. Just a flash."

Sa'Rah decided it was best to drop the conversation before it escalated into a full-blown argument. That was a reoccurring thing between her and the mage. It may not be purposeful, but he had developed the tendency of constantly provoking her till she was almost always incensed. She blamed it on her lack of patience and his inquisitiveness. So she kept quiet as they collected their possessions and saddled the mare. She swung herself onto the horse's back before hoisting him behind her next.

"Have you ever heard of the legends of the Dragonborn?" She inquired as her steed trotted down the hillside. His hands that had been resting on either side of her waist, clenched involuntarily. His hesitance was evidence to clue Sa'Rah that he was nervous.

"It sounds...um, familiar." He stuttered. "Why?"

She shrugged. "No particular reason. It's just if the rumors were true, then whenever a dragon would come to terrorize the people of Skyrim, the Dragonborn would be there to save the day."

He shifted his weight with unease. "It's only a story right?"

"So they say," said Sa'Rah. "But so were the stories about dragons too."

And with that, the two adventurers rode to the hapless city of Whiterun.

* * *

><p><strong>~2~<strong>

Sa'Rah was perched upon the roof of the tavern. Or what was left of it. She had her bow strung with a single arrow poised to shoot. Her aim was low and deadly precise. One false move and the massive thing with wings of reaper's cloth would lose an eye. It already had a score of arrows protruding from his scaly body. The poison had infected the dragon immediately; bringing it spiraling down from the sky to the hard ground with an explosion of debris. With a demonic shriek it writhed, paralyzed in its spot where the Whiterun barracks once stood. The young mage had come out of hiding once the beast was successfully subdued. Now he stood toe-to-toe with it while the surviving villagers watched terrified in the background.

He was either brave as hell, or mad. Sa'Rah wasn't sure which. All she did know, was this wasn't apart of the plan. Her hold on the bow faltered and she leapt onto her feet, hollering. "What the hell are you doing?" Both the dragon's obsidian eyes and the mage's brown ones became fixed with her. They did not look entirely pleased with her outburst. Like hell she cared. "It may be unable to move, but that does not stop it from burning you alive!"

"Its fine," he assured. "The dragon is on its last leg. Let me just put it out of its misery..." Sa'Rah observed a sudden remorseful look overcome him when he shut his eyes and clenched both fists into tight balls. A halo of magicka emanated from his shaking hands. Tiny thunderbolts shot out in every direction as the spell accumulated power. With a forlorn sigh, he finally raised his palms now brimming with electricity just as the dragon unhinged its jaws. He grabbed it by its mouth and with ungodly force, snapped it shut. From where she stood, Sa'Rah had to shield her face as the lightning managed to send reverberating shocks throughout its entire body. It suffered from a quick death, succumbing in a burst of blue light. The mage petted the dying beast's snout apologetically until it was done. It's corpse glowed red hot, its skin flaking off and rising to the sky in the form of black ash. In a matter of seconds, the remains of the dragon were reduced to its skeletal form.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to it softly. "I didn't want this."

A swell of energy lifted off the dragon's bones. It accumulated into a spectrum of dazzling colors and hovered, twisting teasingly in front of him before it shot itself straight into his chest with incredible force. Sa'Rah watched it all; her mouth forming a surprised O shape. The young mage absorbed the dragon's soul until there was nothing left by wispy remnants. He collapsed onto his knees, hunched over as he radiated with a pulsating aura. Sa'Rah recovered from her shock and bounded off the tavern with expert prowess, rushing beside him.

She snaked her arms around his waist and carefully lowered him onto his back. Frantically, she inspected him for injury. But he appeared to be physically unscathed. This deepened her confused state. Her hands began to roam over his supine form to locate a pulse. When she did, his heart felt as though it'd burst out of his ribcage. That could not be normal for a mere human.

"Hey, are you ok?" she asked in soft voice that surprised her. "Please talk to me, say something."

When he did not respond to her pleas, she became desperate. She was used to dictating whether one would live or die, and to have the power stripped away, it unnerved her. Made her feel helpless. Sa'Rah carded her fingers through his mussed hair and tearfully begged. "I know you are practically a stranger to me as well as to yourself...you don't even have a name. Yet you're important to me. I've never had a real friend before you arrived. Don't let me be alone again..."

"Why would I ever leave you alone?" Murmured a hoarse, yet playful voice. Sa'Rah sniffed and looked at the young man lying beneath her. He stared at her with his big doe eyes, a lazy smile working its way onto his fatigued features. Tilting his head curiously, he added. "Nords don't cry."

Her protest was feeble. "I wasn't crying...the smoke is thick."

His grin widened. "Sure, sure. So you _do _actually care about me. All this time I thought you wanted to get rid of me."

"Of course I care about you, idiot," spat Sa'Rah. "Wasn't that kind of obvious from the beginning?"

"I suppose it kind of was," he agreed. "Any esteemed assassin like yourself would've either tried to steal my possessions then killed me, or just left me for dead. It's unusual for your kind to let your guard down to actually feel emotions like compassion. The Dark Brotherhood would be fuming if they saw you associating with me."

Sa'Rah blinked. "Wait, how did you know about that..?"_Where did he learn of my affiliation to the Dark Brotherhood? _She hesitated before speaking again. "Do you...remember?"

"Yes," he replied. "I do."

"How much?"

"Everything."

She exclaimed. "What's your name then? Come on then, spit it out!"

His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "My name is...Charles."

"Charles?" echoed Sa'Rah. It was official. He was an Imperial. "That's...a great name."

"But," he continued. She saw a mix of nervousness and disappointment ghost is youthful features, making him appear a lot older. "You might know me as the one Skyrim calls Dovahkiin."

Her expression went from relief to amazement. Sa'Rah pulled back and sat on her heels. Charles struggled to a sitting position and regarded her with a careful eye. "Are you acquainted with the Dragon Language?" he asked.

"You're Dragonborn." It wasn't a question.

He offered a meek smile. "I bet you weren't expecting him to look like me, were you?"

She shook her head. "No..."

"It's a common misconception," shrugged Charles dismissively. "I'm used to it though, trust me."

There was an awkward pause where neither of them spoke. Charles studied the women sitting opposite of him. She was gawking. He was used to garnering strange reactions from people so this did not bother him. In fact, he found it amusing. The blonde assassin was usually so composed, to see her display any sort of emotion other than anger was a relief to him. She wasn't like all the others then.

So while Sa'Rah was in the midst of processing the truth about the frail thing she had found half-dead on the borderlands of Skyrim, he surveyed his surroundings. The citizens of Whiterun were starting to creep out into the open again. The same expression of shock and awe were etched into their formally terrified faces.

"They are staring at us," remarked Charles. He nudged an unresponsive Sa'Rah who snapped out of her stupor.

"What?" she asked and scanned the scorched village. Yes, there were about a hundred or so pairs of eyes ogling them both. "Oh, right. What should we do?" Her first instinct was to run, but he appeared to have other plans.

Charles stood up and dusted himself off. He gave the Whiterun people a disarming smile, clearing his throat before speaking in a booming voice. "As you all can most certainly see, the dragon is dead. It won't be coming back, unless one of its friends decides to seek revenge... if so, I'll vow to take care of it and every single dragon that ever steps foot into this fair city again."

His speech was met with unsure silence. Sa'Rah wasn't sure of what he was trying to accomplish. The entire town was in shambles and in a permanent state of panic. There was no way to alleviate their fears with just a few promises no matter how heartfelt they were. But Charles still waited nonetheless. Until a tiny boy bolted out of the crowd and sprinted towards him and Sa'Rah.

"It's Dragonborn!" The boy shouted gleefully. "Everyone Dragonborn had come to save us! See, I told you he would!" He came up to Charles and circled his miniature arms around his hero's leg. Sa'Rah watched dubiously, even a shaky laugh escaped her. Charles patted the kid on the head before kneeling down and meeting him at a level gaze.

Charles asked pleasantly. "Hey, could you do me a really big favor, little man?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Anything for you, Dragonborn!"

At the child's eagerness, Charles leaned forward and whispered something into his ear. The boy's emerald eyes doubled in size as did his grin. They parted a moment later, the brunette mage adding. "Does that sound good?"

"Yes!" shouted the boy who turned to face the crowd. "Dragonborn said we should celebrate the victory with a feast!"

The villagers began exchanging hushed, excited whispers. Then an elderly man stepped forward and held his arms wide and welcomingly. Sa'Rah pegged him as the king or esteemed noble of the city. He announced. "We cannot thank you both enough for saving our city! So if a feast is what you ask, then a feast it is!" Everyone cheered loudly. "Come join us, Dovahkiin, you and your companion!"

Sa'Rah scrambled to her feet when the crowd came rushing towards her and Charles like a tidal wave. She inched closer towards him till they were practically touching. To her surprise, she interlocked her fingers with his. Big mobs of people unnerved her. Mostly because they'd chase her out of town on a frequent basis.

"What did you say exactly?" she asked. "Something tells me that you weren't' expecting that either.

He replied weakly. "I told the boy that we haven't eaten in a day and I was hungry." As if on cue, his stomach growled. "I didn't know he'd interpret that as turning a simple congratulatory meal into a full-blown feast."

Sa'Rah smirked. "Well it'd be dishonorable if you'd refuse their hospitality."

"I know," he nodded. "Which is why I am going to shut up now and eat like I am going to the gallows."

"Good idea." She glanced sideways to give him a warm smile. That was a first. "It's nice to finally meet you, Dragonborn."

He returned the smile and squeezed her hand. "I'd like to say the feeling is mutual, Listener."

For the upteempth time since they met, Sa'Rah was rendered completely speechless.

* * *

><p><strong>~3~<strong>

The feast was nothing short than marvelous. Not that the two adventurers would expect anything less from the gracious citizens of Whiterun. They were treated like the Emperor of Tamriel himself. Men, women and children alike all rushed to scavenge for what food had survived the dragon's attack. Since the tavern was destroyed, the celebrations all took place at the royal palace aptly named Dragonsreach. The mead hall was flooded with refugees. Sa'Rah had never seen so many homeless people in one place, nor had she seen them so…happy. She watched the festivities commence from her place at the table. Charles was sitting beside her, chatting animatedly with the ruler of the city, Jarl Balgruuf.

"—and you know what I found?" asked Charles with a wolfish grin. The king shook his head and took a swig of his beverage. "I found a chest full of the freshest cabbages you'd ever seen! How is that even possible? Cabbages in a deep, cavernous dungeon? I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me."

The hall burst into laughter. Meanwhile Sa'Rah politely ate her dinner, not understanding what was so amusing about finding cabbages in a cave. She was lucky to find rotten cheese or bread during her travels. Fresh cabbage in the middle of nowhere sounded like it was some act of god. But it wasn't her place to question the logistics of the story. She was just glad to eat peacefully amongst company without having to worry about the risks of imprisonment or death. She'd thank Charles for that later in the evening. For now, she would enjoy the night and listen contentedly to the drunken tales of the newly pronounced Thane of Whiterun.

"Don't you think you had enough to drink, Dovahkiin?" whispered Sa'Rah once the noise died down and the feasting resumed. She indicated the mug once brimming with the amber liquid now totally empty. This was his fourth round."You're going to have quite the hangover tomorrow."

Charles glanced at her, cheeks flushed and accompanied by a goofy, yet endearing smile. "I probably will feel like a giant had beaten me over the head with its club, but that is one of the unfortunate consequences of getting drunk, isn't it?"

Before Sa'Rah could retort, an elfish-looking man shouted: "Here, here!"

"Just do not expect me to carry you to the nearest inn after you've passed out," she warned him half-seriously. "I'll make you sleep in the stables."

"Why so serious, Listener?" quipped Charles. "This is a party; the least you can do is live a little. We had just defeated a dragon after all!"

Once again, the hall erupted into cheers. However Sa'Rah wasn't amused. This was the second time he had referred to her as the Listener.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" she hissed.

He looked at her innocently. "Call you what? Listener?"

She nodded. "Yes, that."

"That is your title, is it not?" Charles asked, then saw her puzzled stare and sighed. "Guess not. I assumed since you were a member of the Dark Brotherhood, that'd you'd be familiar with your spiritual leader, the Night Mother."

"Of course I know about her!"

"Well then you must also know that she receives the prayers of those who are seeking to arrange an assassination by your guild's hands. Those desires are relayed by her to the Listener." He paused for dramatic effect, grabbing a chicken leg and stuffing it into his mouth. Chewing, he added. "That's you."

Her brows narrowed suspiciously. "How do you know?"

"Another flash," he shrugged.

"I thought you said all of your memories had returned?"

"They have," said Charles. "But I still have other abilities that are sometimes beyond my control. In this case, I have premonitions or visions."

"That's interesting…" she mused. "What else can you do?"

"I can shout."

"That doesn't sound terribly interesting," remarked Sa'Rah with a smirk. "Is that really all you can do?"

"Shouting is more intimidating than you'd think," he said defensively. "And you're lack of knowledge on the magical art is depressing"

"You are speaking of the Dragon Shouts, Dovahkiin?" Asked a Whiterun guard who stood at the head of the table. He was tall, burly and intimidating. His blue eyes regarded Charles with mild curiosity.

Charles smiled. "Yep, Dovahzaan is an arcane form of magic that apparently has gone out of style recently. Not many have retained the ability to perform the Shouts anymore, which sort of bums me out."

Sa'Rah interjected. "What do these Shouts entail? Is it possible for someone like me to learn them as well? Or is it an art that only the Dragonborn can master?"

"You can definitely learn it; it'll just be more labor intensive for a mortal." He shrugged and took a gulp of his drink. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't there a group of mages that still practices it?"

The guard nodded curtly. "The Greybeards reside in the fortress of High Hrothgar which is not too far from here. I am sure that they'd be eager to meet you in person, sir. They have been anticipating the return of the Dragonborn for over a year now."

"I'll think about heading up there," decided Charles with a mouthful of food. "I'm sure that the Grand Master could help me figure out how I lost my memory in the first place."

Sa'Rah shook her head. "You do know that High Hrothgar is located in the Throat of the World, right?"

"Duh," said Charles. "It's the highest mountain peak in Skyrim, big deal. I've climbed it twice once before..."

A few Whiterun citizens turned to look at him. Sa'Rah couldn't believe how casual he was about succeeding in such a monstrous feat; twice even. Either he was narcissistic or too modest to realize that not everyone was as great as he thought. She tended to believe the latter purely for the fact that Charles did not seem to be capable of conceitedness.

"I hope this is just the alcohol talking and not your inflated ego," deadpanned Sa'Rah. "When we first met, you were as self-deprecating as they come."

When Charles laughed, it was a little too loud. "Ha-Ha! For a coldblooded killer, you're hysterical."

"Killer?" repeated the guard. He looked between the pair of travelers, his glare settling on Sa'Rah whose face had turned bright pink. "Is there a bounty out on this woman's head?"

_ Not so much a bounty, _she thought dryly. _More like a kill-on-sight order._

Charles waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about placing an arrest on her; it was just a fun little inside joke between friends. Sa'Rah is as harmless as they come, a real pacifist." The guard eyed him briefly before grunting and letting the accusations drop. This gave the younger of the two the opportunity to change subjects. "So, how'd you become a guard in Whiterun? You're a big and scary individual. Why aren't you out there slaying dragons and rescuing damsels in distress?"

The guard muttered gruffly. "I used to be an adventurer just like you, but then I took an arrow to the knee."

"An arrow to the knee, really?" asked a skeptical Charles. "That's all that took to remove you from pursing all of your hopes and dreams?"

"Yes."

"And nobody thought it would seem prudent to get you medical attention immediately?" He pressed. "A mage could've healed you with ease. Even a simple potion would've done the trick."

"Sadly, I was too far away to be helped," explained the guard. His voice had become an intimidating growl. "There was nothing that could be done."

Charles frowned. "I've been shot by arrows at least a dozen times."

"So have I," added Sa'Rah. "Yet we are both perfectly healthy and not demoted to a couple of city guards."

The guard was fuming. "Not everyone is as fit to travel around Skyrim as the two of you apparently."

"I suppose not," snorted Charles. He became suddenly too preoccupied with staring at Sa'Rah to say anything more. Holding his gaze longer than she was used to, her cheeks became flushed. She remembered holding his hand early that day; the feeling of warmth and security that somehow thawed her black heart. She may not a loving individual, but she did have needs. Needs that haven't been met since the fall of the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary months earlier. Her fleeting arousal made her briefly consider what it'd be like to touch him elsewhere. And to be touched in the same respect. Her eyes dropped to his lips till he spoke again. "We're a great team….ooh the last sweetroll!"

Charles lost his train of thought and dove over the table to get his hand on the piece of bread. To do that, he stretched across Sa'Rah, who dissolved into shivers of delight when his hot breath ghosted over her ear. She hoped for a possible peck on the cheek (maybe for a job well done slaying a dragon) but it appeared that fairy-tale happy endings didn't always come to fruition. Charles was too intent on claiming the sweetroll as his own. Just as his fingers curled around the soft bread, he felt his chest tighten and his nose itch irresistibly. He froze in place, his face twisted into panic. Nobody knew what was coming, not even Sa'Rah. She prided herself on anticipating danger but something as innocent as a sneeze could hardly constitute as something lethal.

Right?

Before he could cover his face with both hands, Charles sneezed. "FUS!" His head flung back and an unrelenting force burst from his open mouth, rippling throughout the entire hall until everything inside was in ruins. The table was overturned with food splattered on the walls and wooden flooring. Those who hadn't tumbled off their seats were stuck to the remaining standing chairs, absolutely petrified by what they had experienced.

A short, bearded Wood Elf panted. "What…was that?"

Everyone became glued to Charles, waiting for an explanation. He glanced up and looked wholly apologetic, rubbing his nose fervently. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. It will never happen again."

His apology fell on deaf ears. The guard had grabbed him by the shoulder, and roughly pulled him aside. Sa'Rah watched, her hand sliding for the dagger she kept sheathed on her waist. If that gimp even laid a land on Charles, she'd slit the bastard's throat. Just because she was behaving somewhat civilly didn't mean she couldn't revert to her assassin roots. Plus, she wanted that damn kiss.

"Do that again and I swear I'll lock you up, Dragonborn or no," threatened the guard. He gripped Charles by his tunic and gave him a violent shake. "That sort of power gets people nervous. Do you understand?"

Charles lamented. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone, I swear!"

"We appreciate your services to Whiterun, but now it is time for you to depart indefinitely."

"Hey, that's not fair! You'd all be dead if Sa'Rah and I didn't risk our lives to save this city!"

For once, Sa'Rah recognized anger in his voice. It gave her incentive to draw her blade and dart beside him. The villagers and nobles all gasped. A handful of guards stormed inside the palace, aiming their respective weapons at the former heroes.

"C'mon, do as he says." Sa'Rah insisted. "Let's get out of here, ungrateful scum."

"Listen to her, Dovahkiin," smirked the guard. "Go."

Charles shot him a fiery glare; akin to a dragon's. "I'm sorry that I have to resort to this…" He trailed off when his nose twitched again. His eyes flickered to Sa'Rah. "You wanted to see what a Shout was like, right?"

She nodded.

"Well this is known as force, balance, push. Watch carefully."

Another twitch.

The guard's eyes widened. People began scrambling to evacuate the hall while the other soldiers came to barricade them from escaping. Meanwhile Sa'Rah backed up the appropriate distance, her smile growing wider with anticipation.

"Stop, don't come any closer! He's going to—"

"FUS RO DAH!"

* * *

><p><strong>~4~<strong>

_**Castle/Carmichael Industries Base **_

_**Friday, December 16th**_

_**2011**_

A few weeks ago, Sarah Bartowski had referred to her husband's pension for all things nerdy as cute. That, she found out recently, was a mistake or at least an over-exaggeration on her part. Yeah, it was endearing and maybe a little bit sexy even when he'd take control like he had whenever he was 'plugged in' and hacking. She had shown him exactly how she felt about the Piranha once the whole CIA conspiracy fiasco was put on hold, at least momentarily. But this, this was different.

She had found him in Castle late one Friday night. Initially, she had thought he and Morgan were enjoying some quality time playing videogames. Which was partially true. He was playing videogames. Just minus Morgan and it was a little after 3am. Sarah faintly recalled that she had introduced a set of rules on how to conduct oneself in their secret base. Apparently Chuck hadn't gotten the memo. Or like with all things, he chose to do the exact opposite. Under no circumstances was he allowed to use company owned property for pleasure. That's what the candy jars and assorted antique arcade games were for. It was all apart of his so-called "process."

Naturally, Chuck violated the one golden rule. No surprise there. He was slouched in his special chair, head lolled at an awkward angle while drool accumulated at the corner of his opened mouth. His very expensive (how could she not stress expensive enough?) headset rested askew on his head in a comical fashion. A controller sat in his limp grasp. To complete the visual, Sarah noted the empty bottle of chardonnay that was tipped over on the tabletop. She did not have to even spare a glance at the 65 inch monitor to know exactly what happened here.

_ Skyrim._

It was the bane of Sarah's existence. The day when Chuck had first picked up the Elder Scrolls V game at the midnight release will forever be known as the moment when she had officially lost her husband to a goddamn videogame. What was so exciting about pretending to be some knight or wizard? Chuck was a _spy _for crying out loud! There was nothing that could compare to the reality that was his life. He shouldn't have to resort to fantasy to get his fill of excitement. He had plenty here. Didn't he?

She watched Chuck nap for awhile. He looked content, maybe even peaceful. That was a far cry then most nights back at the apartment where he'd be lucky to get an hour of sleep. The stress of Carmichael Industries was really doing a number on him. Their fledgling spy firm wasn't exactly thriving in the private sector. Morgan's brain had nearly turned to mush. On top of that, he was always at odds with CIA. It was amazing that he hadn't suffered from a psychotic break after all that had happen to him in just a few short months. After studying Chuck for another second or so, her features softened. Now she understood. He needed an out. Videogames was his temporary escape.

Smiling sadly, Sarah shut off both the Xbox 360 console and the monitor. She tossed out the bottle of chardonnay and put away all of Chuck's videogaming essentials to where they belonged stacked back onto his desk. Finally, she went to wake Chuck up. She leaned over and ran a hand through his unkempt hair, noting the bags underneath his eyes. For a moment, she contemplated leaving him there for the rest of the night. He was actually asleep. To disturb him would mean another sleepless night of tossing and turning, plagued by nightmares and god knows what else was troubling him.

"Oh Chuck," Sarah murmured to herself. Maybe she could find a couple blankets and pillows; enough for the both of them. If he was going to stay, then so would she. Just as she was about to give him a kiss on the temple, Chuck stirred. She retracted quickly._ Dammit. _

He shifted in the chair, then began to mumble under his breath. "fus...ro..."

Sarah blinked. _What is he saying?_

Curiosity piqued, she leaned forward to listen and try to discern what her husband was muttering. Suddenly, his breath hitched and two sleepy brown eyes met a pair of confused blue ones.

"DA...!" blurted Chuck and he nearly bumped heads with Sarah. In fact, they did. Their collision caused Sarah to curse loudly while Chuck tumbled off the chair in his disorientation. He hit the floor with a hard thud and groaned. "Ah..."

Sarah recovered first. She slid onto her knees and loomed above Chuck who was currently wincing in pain.

"Are you alright?" she asked worriedly.

"Fine, fine just..." he stared up at her and with a half-smile, rubbed his tailbone. "There will probably be a bruise."

"Do you want me to kiss it better?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Let's get you back home first," offered Sarah. "Then I'll give you a nice, relaxing massage. How does that sound?"

"Sounds amazing and all, but what's with the free massage?" asked Chuck skeptically. He lowered his voice and whispered. "What do you want from me?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I don't want anything from you, other than you to just relax."

"I am relaxed."

She rested a hand on the curve of his neck, and experimentally kneaded her fingers into his tensed muscles. Chuck's body went rigid almost immediately while his face twisted into a grimace. Sarah sighed, remarking. "You're a horrible liar, babe."

"I don't try to lie, but..." he trailed off unsurely. "Why am I the only one folding under pressure? I've never been good at handling stress. The insomnia is getting worse and so is the panic attacks. Am I going insane..again?"

Sarah felt her heart breaking for Chuck. She shook her head. "No, Chuck, you're not going insane. Stress is normal. So before we resort to doing anything drastic, like therapy or medication to deal with your anxiety issues, how about we focus on certain stress relievers?"

"Like...?"

"More you and me time," suggested Sarah with a wink. "If you catch my drift."

This made Chuck smile for a split second. "What about..." he started to ask. "I know what your answer is going to be, but seeing as I won't be getting any sleep tonight, would you like to watch me play videogames? It doesn't have to be _S__kyrim_. It can be a co-op game like _Modern Warfare _or _Battlefield _so you can play too. I just, I'm too tired to really keep focused on anything else and-"

Before he could continue to ramble, Sarah shushed him with a kiss. "I would love to play videogames with you, Chuck." She whispered after they drew apart.

"Honest?"

She nodded. "Yes, and besides, I want to see what's so great about _Skyrim_. It practically stole you away from me for the past week, so it must be doing something right." Pausing, she added. "Is that where the um, fus ro dah thing came from?"

Chuck blushed fiercely. "Fus ro dah? Where did you hear that?"

"You were talking in your sleep."

"Oh, well then. Yeah, that's from Skyrim." He relented sheepishly.

"Don't be embarrassed."

"It's sort of hard not to be considering that's probably in the top ten most nerdiest things I've ever done."

Sarah laughed. "I'd rank it below your fascination with speaking Klingon in public."

"Touche, wife."

"Now," she drawled, effortlessly changing the subject. "About _Skyrim_."

Chuck pushed himself to where he was sitting upright. Taking Sarah by the hand, he dragged her down into his lap where she presently sat comfortably in his embrace. He absently brushed an errant curl behind her ear followed by a teasing poke on the nose. "Ah, _Skyrim_. Prepared to be mind-blown, Mrs. Bartowski. Many a gamer has been sucked into the world of Elder Scrolls."

"Is that what you were dreaming about?" asked Sarah curiously. "The game?"

"Yeah," he replied weakly. "I guess I've been playing too much if even my subconscious is obsessed with it."

"Was it a good dream at least?"

Chuck was quiet for a moment, lost in deep thought. Dreams were often fleeting but Sarah could tell that he remembered at least some of it. He mindlessly traced the outline of her lips, murmuring. "It was nice, different but the same. If you'd replace all the bad guys we've ever face with dragons and bitter guards who took arrows to their knees..."

Sarah tilted her head. "Arrows to the knee...?"

He waved hand dismissively. "Trust me, its better off not knowing."

Kissing his thumb still poised on her parted lips, she closed her eyes and said. "You know that I love you no matter right, Chuck?"

"Till death do us part, just like the wedding vows explicitly stated." He half-joked, then said more seriously. "I know that you love me, and I love you too. Sarah, you're the only reason as to why I haven't dove off the deep end yet."

"I'll always be there to keep you from drowning," she promised quietly. "Remember that forever."

"Even in my dreams?" asked Chuck with a teasing grin.

Sarah's eyes parted, her gaze glittering in the darkness. Chuck was rendered mesmerized until she bent forward to give him a long, reassuring kiss. They both enjoyed the silence that followed until Sarah whispered confidently against his lips:

"Always."

* * *

><p><strong>An: <strong>I'm honestly not even sure what to make of this. The story literally began as crack and a Skyrim/Chuck crossover. but clearly that's not where it ended. Somewhere along the line of me being stoned, I sobered up and the plot took a dramatic turn. Whoops. I do firmly believe that Chuck is neuoritc and stressed out of his mind this season with all the shit he's been forced to deal with. I feel bad for him. Thus, videogames is his escape from his harsh reality.

A few notes on Skyrim:

1. I hope I got across what Dragonborn was_, _and how that's the playable character in the actual game.

2. Sarah's character was a Nord, the new race of the game. They're basically beautiful fair-haired badasses. She's also an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood, which is a clan of killers. Go figure.

3. Casey was supposed to be the guard, and the elf was Morgan.

4. The Cabbage joke is a meme about how you go into this scary caves and when you lockpick a chest, there are random fruits and food stowed in there.

5. Don't make explain the "arrow to the knee" joke.

6. The names, Sa'Rah and Char'Les (or variations of them) were coined by **Aerox **since he developed the templates of both characters on his version of the game.

7. If you want to blame this story on anything, blame marijuana, alcohol and the stresses of studying for college finals.


End file.
